Scoundrel
by projectAL1C3
Summary: Snippets of adventures with Hawke from Varric's POV, chronicling everything from their first "meeting", drinking in the Hanged Man, and Varric's growing confusion with his feelings about Hawke. Varric-f!Hawke-isms. T for fluff and cussing.
1. At First Sight

He'd been watching her for a long time.

Within her first year of being in Kirkwall, Hawke had done many things to make a name for her self. When the underworld was littered with that last name and the actions that had followed along with it, the sly dwarf knew he had to get at least a sight of what this Fereldan wonder was to see if the stories could possibly true. After all, Varric knew good stories when he heard them, being a master storyteller himself. If there was merit to these tales, he would know, and if there wasn't, well then it would just be another night to wrap up in the Hanged Man with the bitter taste of ale and disappointment stinging his lips once again.

He'd tracked her to Lowtown and all around Kirkwall, following leads and listening to more stories along the way. Each time he grew more impressed, but also more skeptical. The excitement was almost tantamount, and he was beginning to have a strong desire to be able to tie a face to the fastest growing household name in the Free Marches. He knew that he might have something special here if he was able to catch up to her. It was just a matter of doing so without being noticed.

Weeks had rolled by with little to no progress in finding the up and coming hero, and Varric found himself uncharacteristically ruffled by this. The dwarf believed himself to be, in many ways, the owner of these streets. Very little happened that he didn't have some hand in, and even less happened that he didn't know about. He'd traced the blighted stories to Darktown, following up on leads about the work Hawke been doing for Athenril. A very impressive smuggling record, he had to admit. Very few Fereldans were making it as well as Hawke seemed to be. She was coming up fast in this city, and that impressed Varric a great deal. This Hawke might prove to be just the type of woman that Bartrand and he were looking to help with the Deep Roads. But there was still one thing that Varric couldn't understand, and it was driving him insane. How was it that this woman, Hawke, was proving to be so good at eluding him? Did she know that he was on her trail? Was she more perceptive than he had given her credit for? Sitting in the Hanged Man, Varric poured over these thoughts as he allowed himself another ale to be poured into his cup.

He almost didn't hear the door open to announce a new patron arriving.

Normally Varric paid no heed to the comers and goers of the tavern. Most were low life ruffians who posed him no threat or value. Perhaps it was his wistfulness, or the desire to be distracted by the untypical feeling of failure that made him look up. Later, as he would retell the stories to others, and eventually, even himself, Varric would come to describe his decision to look up that night as nothing more than the will of the Maker.

He knew her immediately from the descriptions he had gathered, but he had never once considered that they would never do her true beauty justice.

She had the most piercing brown eyes he'd ever seen on a human. Her features were soft and lady like, the true face a noblewoman should wear, but the features were bent to show that she had seen great harshness throughout her life and was no one to be fooled with unless you were suicidal. Her short-cropped hair was windblown, but somehow made her look even more feminine and beautiful. Her cheeks were somewhat rosy, but that only added color to her otherwise pale complexion. It betrayed neither naivety nor youth, because her formidable stance (and weaponry) betrayed either as being a characteristic. No. Hawke was a woman, and a beautiful one, and a dangerous one.

Moreover, Varric, who was not one to normally find humans attractive, felt a stirring deep within him that was more than a little uncomfortable and made him happy that he was alone and virtually unnoticeable in the corner of the Hanged Man. He watched her and her companion, a younger woman with similar features and complexion to Hawke (most likely the sister that he had heard tell of) stepped next to her, wearing a similar frown. For a moment, Hawke's eyes met with Varric's and he felt his heart drop. Had he been found out? Had he been betrayed? Impossible!

But it was over in an instant. Her eyes passed over him without notice, and he breathed a sigh of relief (and felt a twinge of disappointment if he wanted to be truly honest with himself). Whatever the two women were searching for, they must have found it. The younger woman, a mage by the looks of the staff on her back, frowned and pointed in the direction of an elderly man with slicked back, greasy gray hair huddled over an empty cup at the bar. The elder Hawke nodded and each headed in the general direction of the man.

This, Varric had to see.

He sidled out of his chair and tiptoed through the crowd, shuffling up behind a pillar so that he was just out of eyesight of the two women and the man at the bar. He couldn't hear what they were saying, of course, the blasted music was too loud as was the drunken rambling of most of the sailors and soldiers that frequented this place all too often, but he could see their expressions and not a person among the unhappy trio looked at all too pleased with their current situation. The elderly man kept waving the two women away, going so far as to try and push the eldest out of his line of sight. Apparently she had stepped between him and a rather attractive redhead in the seat next to him. Hawke's hand ripped through the air and grabbed his wrist as he attempted the motion again, and he seemed to understand that the young woman was no longer playing nice. He glared up at her before casting his face downward in defeat.

For all the beauty afforded her, Hawke's gaze looked as though it never lost its sternness. She appeared as mad as an ogre who'd just sat it's bare ass down on a bed of coals, and though Varric had only just seen her for himself, he was willing to bet she was at least five times as dangerous. And Maker, was she also beautiful! The stirring began again deep within the dwarf, and he started to allow himself to wonder what her legs looked like underneath all of her heavy gear. He followed her slender neck and imagined the dainty curves of her shoulders beneath the gargantuan armor and broadsword on her back. He wondered how smooth her skin might be and just how beautiful those curves would appear in a few Orlesian silk dresses. He thought many a thing that any scoundrel would consider upon catching sight of a beautiful woman, but being a gentleman, the dwarf kept them to himself.

The man Hawke was now harassing paid his tab and then the three of them walked out together, the elder in the forefront looking both embarrassed and furious. Varric watched them leave with great excitement and a hint of sadness. But he was determined to meet up with these two women again, and personally become acquainted with the elder lady Hawke. He smiled to himself as he made his way quickly back to his table. Bartrand, his brother, was looking for a partner in their latest scourge into the Deep Roads. Perhaps if Hawke got an anonymous tip for the job, it would give Varric his chance to make an impression on the lady.

The sly dwarf laughed to himself. "Varric, you've still got it," he whispered upon finding his table again.

To his disappointment, he found his ale gone and the table reset in the assumption that he had left for the night.

"Oh, Andraste's ass," he spat.


	2. More Than Friends

Varric wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of her as "his".

It had to have happened sometime between the Deep Roads expedition and that third rogue assassin that had tried to sneak up behind her just a few seconds ago. But as he tried to think back on it, he couldn't put his finger on when the transition had occurred exactly.

The dwarf kneeled for a second to reload Bianca. In the time it took for him to get back on his feet, he saw neither hide nor hair of Hawke or the rest of his companions and now a smoke cloud had enveloped the alleyway with fireballs raining down from the sky.

"They've got a mage!" Anders yelled over the din.

Blondie always seemed intent on pointing out the obvious.

Varric grunted as Bianca ripped the swordsman closest to him apart and then darted forward. He narrowly missed a sword sweeping above his head and thanked his lucky stars that he was a dwarf and not human. Cleary the thug doing the swinging had expected as much himself. Varric kicked the back of the man's knee and added a very well placed bayonet to his shoulder. It wouldn't kill him, but he wouldn't be swinging anymore large blades for a while either.

The dwarf's gaze lifted to try and find Hawke as the smoke was beginning to clear. His heart started to quicken it's beat ever so slightly at her absence. He tried to bite it down. Varric knew damned well that the woman could definitely take care of herself, and had done so while in turn saving his own ass a few times in the process. He had no real reason to worry.

That didn't stop him though.

As Varric peered through the mist and listened to the sounds of combat all around him, his mind drifted back to the question he had been asking himself for the past few weeks.

It went without say that Hawke was one of Varric's closest friends. She'd been a vital contact of his from the beginning, and that relationship had blossomed swiftly into something more gratifying than a business partnership. She was dear to him, a loyal companion that he was always happy to accompany on adventures, even if it meant bringing him no profit. Truth be told, Varric simply enjoyed her company. She was a fascinating woman in that she could fit in as easily in Hightown as she did in Lowtown, and never batted an eye at the difference it required in her mannerisms. Yet she was never false in her pretenses. Hawke was always Hawke, and Varric had respected that above all else in his lady friend.

So when had these feelings grown into something even…stronger? And why?

Maybe that didn't matter. It had been a long time since the dwarf had fallen in love, and he sincerely doubted that for all the pain it had caused him in the past it simply wasn't worth getting involved in again. Love was just another of the many great games that were played in life, and if he wanted to be a player in that one then he would make that choice.

But when they were together he would find himself lost in her voice or her eyes, or hoping to see that tell when she had had just a little too much to drink at the Hanged Man and he would have to walk her home…Varric slowly began to realize that he had started pining for those moments a little more each time, and it scared him.

He would have never denied that Hawke was dear to him. Years later and having remained by her side for so long, going through so much together, any living creature with a soul would have developed a bond through those shared experiences.

The dwarf prided himself on taking care of his friends. He would never allow someone close to him to be hurt if he had the power to prevent it. And for a dwarf as high up in the Merchant's Circle as himself, Varric usually had that power. He'd gone so far as to buy off the gardeners in Hightown to save Merrill from the scrutiny of the guards, as well as some of the better-known muggers and thieves that often frequented the alienage. He'd even paid false informants to lead the Templars away from Anders' clinic in Darktown. The coin he had invested to keep both of them safe hadn't come close to the amount he'd spent keeping an eye on Hawke. Though he had done the same for his other companions, for some reason Varric had always gone above and beyond when it came to her.

"Where's Hawke?" he yelled at Fenris as the elf ran by to disarm yet another assassin. Andraste's ass, where were they all coming from? No way this was a run of the mill gang they'd encountered. This had to have been planned. An assassination attempt? Varric couldn't say he was surprised. For all the friends Hawke had made in her time in Kirkwall, she'd made double that number in enemies.

"I don't know!" yelled Fenris from some indistinct corner of the courtyard. "I saw her over there not too long ago, but she's gone now. Can't see with all this smoke."

Varric never saw where 'here' was thanks to Fenris being outside of typical visual range, and he didn't like that the two taller people in the group seemed to have just as little sight of her as the dwarf did. He needed to find her and fast.

"Hawke!" He yelled in between mouthfuls of smoke. He received no answer, save a few more assassins' blades that were deflected by Bianca's strength and his stoutness and speed. Not bad for a dwarf.

The silence was beginning to bother him more than he was willing to admit. Other than the sounds of battle, his friends were silent, which was very rarely the case. Varric felt his stomach drop.

"The fog is lifting!"

There again was Blondie with the obviousness.

Varric was relieved that his visibility would now be greater. Hopefully he would find Hawke alive and well and finally focus on the battle at hand.

At least until the sound of air being sucked through a tight opening reached his ears. He knew that sound all too well, and turned to see Hawke at last, only she was flying almost directly over his head and into the adjacent wall. The sight might have been comical were it not for the vicious crack of skull on stone that made his blood run somewhat colder.

He turned to shoot the blighted mage down but found it already felled by Fenris. He bit his lip angrily but didn't allow himself to think too much on the moment until a shadow cast itself over him. Assuming that Hawke was up again he turned to greet her, only to be met with an assassin's dagger. Varric lifted Bianca knowing that the defense wouldn't be enough to stop the blow, but if he could take the damned human with him it would at least be worth something. The dagger, however, was met with a sword and both sets of eyes turned to see bright, angry blue eyes glaring up at the assassin through streamlets of blood. One sword swipe disarmed the man while another brought him down to the ground where he would remain until the city guard found him in the morning.

Varric was relieved to see Hawke on her feet, but noticed almost instantly thereafter the unusual stiffness in her stance. There were injuries there that would take time to heal, and the anger within the dwarf resurfaced.

Hawke, on the other hand, seemed unfazed.

"You alright?" Her eyes were wide and intense, but the sincerity was not gone from her face.

"Oh yeah!" he smiled, trying not to show how much the blood running down the side of her face and down her nose was bothering him. "You?"

"I'll live. I think that's the last of them."

Varric peeled his gaze away from her face and scanned the area. She was right. There was nothing left of the group that had assailed them only moments ago.

"I think you're right," agreed the dwarf. "So are we finished here?"

"I'd say so. We can collect the bounty tomorrow. Best to head home before we run into anymore trouble."

Anders and Fenris looked like they could not agree more and headed in their respective directions. Varric watched Hawke tentatively sheath her sword, wincing in the process.

"Perhaps," said Varric, "M'lady Hawke would welcome an escort home?"

She smiled down at him and he noted a bruise that had just begun to form beneath her left eye.

"If you like, Varric, though it's a bit out of your way, isn't it?"

The dwarf bowed politely. "A small price to pay to see a lady home safely."

Hawke laughed, her delicate voice lifting his spirits in the process.

"Very well, I shall welcome the company."

Smiling, the dwarf stayed side by side with his now limping companion.


End file.
